


Once More, More Honestly

by RetroactiveCon



Series: (Sugar) Baby, What's My Sin? [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Caretaking, Eventual Smut, Food Issues, Karaoke, Loss of Powers, M/M, Mob Boss Leonard Snart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21826429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: ‘Barry, I’m sorry for what happened at Elliot’s. That isn’t how I wanted you to find out. You have every right not to come near me again, but know that I meant every word—you’re sweet, you’re genuine, and you mean more to me than you know. If you don’t reply, I’ll take that as your answer. Len.’(Rating is for the last chapter - everything prior to that is Teen and Up.)
Relationships: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart, Cisco Ramon/Lisa Snart
Series: (Sugar) Baby, What's My Sin? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599391
Comments: 122
Kudos: 458





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hoseki13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoseki13/gifts), [trinipedia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trinipedia/gifts).



Barry contemplates the leftovers of his Wednesday dinner with Iris. He ought to tell her. She’s been enthusiastically supportive of his slowly developing relationship—she deserves to know what happened. (Not to mention, she was shot at by men under the employ of Barry’s former…something. She deserves to know.) 

“Oooh, look, _Len_ sent you another note!” 

Barry bolts to her side. It’s been over a week since the fight with the Santini enforcers at Elliot’s. In that time, he’s heard nothing from Len—Boss Cold. The note on powder-blue paper is unmistakably from him. Iris brandishes it teasingly and reads it aloud.

“‘Barry, I’m sorry for what happened at Elliot’s. That isn’t how I wanted you to find out. You have every right not to come near me again, but know that I meant every word—you’re sweet, you’re genuine, and you mean more to me than you know. If you don’t reply, I’ll take that as your answer. Len.’” She tilts her head. “Did he proposition you or something really gross? Is that why he’s apologizing?” 

“No.” _He’s Boss Cold_ sticks in Barry’s throat. He thought he was over it—thought he could tell Iris, apologize profusely for accepting gifts from a criminal, and devise a plan to ensure his swift capture. He doesn’t know what to do with the little flutter of hope that settles in his chest upon hearing the note. “It’s…complicated.” 

Iris arches an eyebrow. “It’s not that complicated. I know that poor, pitiful look.” She pinches his cheek. “You’re head over heels for this guy and you don’t want to admit it.” 

Barry thinks back to the Saturday before the Santini intrusion. He’d been helplessly, sickeningly in love. Len—Boss Cold, he corrects himself irritably—was intelligent and well-spoken and kind and it was probably all an act. “I can stop being in love with him,” he says, as much to himself as to her. “I just need a little time.”

“You cannot,” Iris scoffs. “I’ve seen you try. You get all pining and pathetic.” She sets the note aside and cups Barry’s cheeks. He focuses on the bridge of her nose, the closest he’ll come to eye contact. “He dotes on you, he gives you nice presents and leaves you sweet notes and is clearly in love with you. Now you, my little dork brother, need to go get this guy.” She gives him a little nudge toward the door. 

“I wanted to stay and talk with you.” He must sound pathetic. Iris gives him a playful frown. 

“You can talk to me once you’ve gone and turned ‘it’s complicated’ into ‘Iris, I have a wonderful boyfriend, thank you so much for making me talk to him.’” When he still lingers, she rolls her eyes. “It’s not going to be any fun talking to you when you have this on your mind. Trust me, I’ve tried. You get all taciturn and unfocused and you don’t listen to anything I say, so really, this is as much for my benefit as yours. Go get your guy!” 

At her insistent urging, Barry bolts out of the apartment and heads to Elliot’s. It’s foolish to go there. He doubts Boss Cold is there, given the incident with the Santinis and subsequent police presence. This is why he’s all the more surprised to see Len in his favorite booth, surveying the restaurant with caution. He doesn’t even blink at Barry’s sudden appearance, and Barry entertains the notion that he’s here because he expected a visit. 

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, sending me a note after what I saw.” Barry stalks over to the booth. Despite Boss Cold’s welcoming gesture, he stays on his feet, arms crossed. “I could arrest you right now and not regret it.”

“Don’t make empty threats.” Boss Cold stirs his drink, the picture of nonchalance. “If you wanted to arrest me, you would have already. Why don’t we skip the posturing and get to what’s really upsetting you, Barry.”

Where to begin with a prompt like that. Barry bursts out, “What’s upsetting me? Oh, I dunno, how about the fact that you’re a thief and a murderer and that you made me complicit in all of that by sending me gifts bought with tainted money? Or how about that I cozied up with the man whose thugs shot at Iris? Or how about the part where you were just using me to get information about the CCPD? I was just a convenience to you—a really fucking expensive informant!” 

Boss Cold shakes his head. “I won’t deny the first part, Barry—that’s fully correct. I’m a criminal and a liar, and I hurt people and I rob them. I’m a bad man, and I’m very good at it. But have you ever stopped to consider who I kill?” 

As a CSI, Barry has a unique view on Boss Cold’s murders. “…Other mobsters.” 

Boss Cold nods. “I go after people your CCPD can’t or won’t—the unscrupulous, the cruel, those who terrorize Central City without any kind of moral code. I don’t harm the innocent. Those who do—including the men who shot at your sister—are dealt with. I don’t tolerate their kind.” His eyes flash. Barry goes suddenly, humiliatingly weak at the knees. 

“I wondered why they died,” he says to disguise his momentary lapse. “They didn’t give us any information.” 

“That was before I knew you,” Boss Cold points out. “It wasn’t an act of favoritism. They shot at an innocent, despite knowing I don’t tolerate that. I made an example of them.” His matter-of-fact tone sends chills down Barry’s spine. Without a doubt, he knows how lethal he is and is utterly assured of his ability to get away with murder. Barry owes it to the city to put him away, but try though he might, he can’t convince himself to do so. 

“And me?” He pretends it’s an afterthought rather than a festering wound. “I told you, I’m a fucking cheap date. If you wanted to pry me for information, you didn’t have to go to such lengths.” 

Boss Cold shakes his head. “I told you, questioning you was never my goal. Everything I said—about why I sent you money, about how I came to care about you—all of that was honest, Barry. I let myself get fond of you, and as you learned at Abruzzi’s hand, that’s a very dangerous thing for both of us.” His eyes soften. It’s the same cautiously fond look he’d worn during their date, and it makes Barry want to give in. 

“So I’m supposed to just accept that you’re, what, a ‘good’ mobster? That I can let you go free and it won’t come back to bite me?”

Boss Cold scoffs. “There’s no such thing as a ‘good’ mobster, Barry. You’re too intelligent to believe that. But I’ll tell you this: I’ve been the innocent who suffered from mafia carelessness. When I carved out a niche in the underground, I promised to put a stop to that and I have.”

Barry’s eyes widen. Disparate information suddenly falls together, united by Boss Cold’s admission. “You killed your father, didn’t you? You took over for him.”

He nods once, barely noticeable to anyone else even if they were being observed. “My father was an abusive drunk who used his mob connections to bully innocent people—to say nothing of what he was like at home. I killed him and every member of his degenerate crew, and I don’t regret it.” 

If only Barry had the good sense to wear a wire. Iris would have a field day with this, to say nothing of Singh…although being on tape admitting to receiving gifts from a mob boss, even unwittingly, might be the end of his tenuous career. “If you killed his crew…”

“My family found me, not the other way around.” At this, Boss Cold smirks. “I think you might know some of them. They don’t have any love for the Flash, that’s for certain.”

A metahuman crew. That explains how the Rogues rose to such power in the underworld in such a short time. The non-meta enforcers in other families are out of their depth. Unconsciously, Barry runs through his list of metahumans, trying to picture who might have made their way to Boss Cold. “Kyle Nimbus?” 

His lips thin. “Nimbus was a thug even before he was a metahuman. I have no patience for his kind—you know that.” New respect flits across his face. Barry has impressed him, which is vaguely embarrassing given that he wasn’t trying to be impressive. “You’re testing me.”

Well, not deliberately, but Barry will take it. And Boss Cold is right: Kyle Nimbus is a thug. Hearing that he has no part in the Rogues is confirmation, however slight, of Cold’s alleged morals. “Say I don’t turn you in. Will I hear from you again?” 

“That depends on several things.” Boss Cold counts them off on elegant fingers. “First, the Flash has to stay out of my business. If the Rogues come after you or terrorize civilians, fine. But if you interfere with my dealings, then by necessity I’m going to have to fight back.”

That’s fair, although it may not be a promise Barry can keep. “Depends on what those ‘dealings’ are.” 

“That’s for me to know.” Once again, Cold’s face softens. “Second, for _you,_ Barry Allen. I’ll do whatever you ask of me. If you don’t want to see me again, fine, I’ll stay clear. But as I said, you mean a lot to me…and I think, judging by your little speech before Abruzzi so rudely interrupted us, you liked me too. So if you want to—how did you put it? ‘Give it a try,’ I’ll follow your lead.” 

Barry can’t. He shouldn’t. It’s wrong on so many levels. It was one thing to fall in love with Len, his sweet benefactor—it’s quite another to be head-over-heels for a mobster. But is it really? He never got the sense that Len was lying to him—even as Cold, he seems genuine. Maybe…as long as Barry is cautious, maybe they could try. “No more money, no more gifts. I don’t want any of your mob money, and I don’t want to be dependent on you.” He’s gotten spoiled by Cold’s—Len’s—gifts, the nice clothes and the grocery money. Without the grocery money, he’s probably going to need to skip meals again. That’s all right; it’s a small price to pay for his independence. 

“If you’re sure.” Len looks vaguely disappointed and even—maybe worried? 

“I liked our dates here, but I don’t think you’re going to want to come back here after Abruzzi, are you?” 

Len shakes his head, smiling ruefully. “I’m set up at Saints and Sinners now. It’s a bit of a hike from CCPD, but that’s nothing for you, is it?” 

Barry knows the bar. He’s only been twice, both times undercover for meta cases. (One time ended with an extremely ill-advised make-out session behind the bar. The less said about that, the better.) “I’m gonna miss Elliot’s food.” 

Len chuckles. “Not now, you’re not. He knows who shut him in the pantry.”

Whoops. Yeah, it might be time to frequent a different venue—one with a less vengeful cook. “Um, okay, Saints and Sinners sounds good. Am I gonna run into your crew there?”

Len shrugs. “Possibly, but they don’t recognize you without the cowl, and I certainly won’t tell.” He offers another of his lopsided smiles. Against his will, Barry’s heart does a little enamored flip. “I want you safe.” 

Well, okay, fuck, Iris was right. Barry is head over heels for Len. He has been for weeks, even after the revelation about Len’s mob connections. It’s dangerous and immoral and he’ll hate himself for it later, but for now, it feels too good to ignore. “I…guess I’ll see you on Friday, then.” 

As he runs away from Elliot's, he wonders how long this can last before it blows up in his face.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later, Barry Allen wanders into Saints and Sinners. From his booth, Leonard notices his arrival. Adorable boy—he looks helplessly out of place, although perhaps not quite as unfamiliar as Leonard thought. He greets the bartender casually, orders something to eat, and wanders back to Leonard’s booth. 

“You’ve been to Saints before?” Leonard asks approvingly. 

“For cases.” Barry shifts awkwardly, looking everywhere except at Leonard’s face. He’s nervous. Against his better judgment, Leonard lays a hand on the table, palm-up. Barry reaches for it, stops short, and hurriedly withdraws. “Are any of your Rogues in here?” 

Mick is around, but knowing him, he’s lurking in a back room somewhere. He only emerges to stop fights. The others are elsewhere; it’s not Mark or Shawna’s turn to work the bar, and Sam and Rosa are spying on the Santinis to discover a way to hit them back for the attack at Elliot’s. “No. Don’t worry, Barry. You’re not in any danger.” 

Barry glances at him and looks away. “Uh, so, what now?” 

Leonard studies him. For all his bravado, he’s ill at ease, out of place in a criminals’ haven. He deserves better than an old mob boss—Leonard has known that since he sent the first prepaid card—but both of them are in too deep now. “I didn’t expect you to respond to my note. I hadn’t thought this far ahead.”

“I don’t know if I would have,” Barry admits. “Iris made me.”

Ah, that explains it. Leonard has had Iris West tailed, thought it a necessity when she first published her article, and through his spies’ reports has developed a grudging respect for her. Barry’s stories deepened that respect into a sort of vicarious fondness. “Have you told her?”

“About dating the man whose criminal dealings she exposed? About potentially putting her at risk?” Barry’s temper flares. “What do you think?” 

Leonard stirs his drink just to give himself something to do. “Understandable,” he says. “If it’s any consolation, Lisa doesn’t know about you, either.” She would probably laugh herself sick if she did. 

“Your sister?” Barry scans the bar as though expecting to see her here. Surreptitiously, Leonard does the same. It wouldn’t be unlike Lisa to suddenly appear at the least convenient moment. “Was anything you told me about her true?”

Leonard shrugs. “What do you want me to say? ‘She joins me on heists every once in a while, and it’s my job to take the blame so she can continue living a safe, legal life the rest of the time?’” He makes his tone mocking so that, on the off chance Barry is wearing a wire, it isn’t an obvious confession. In fact, it’s the truth. “Everything I told you—the ice skating, the way she mocks me—all of that was true.”

Barry tilts his head. He’s trying to understand Leonard’s tone—sweet boy, he probably doesn’t know whether or not to take it as a joke. That was Leonard’s intention. “Will I get to meet her?”

“No,” Leonard says firmly. He has no idea what chaos might ensue should the two of them ever meet, and he’s in no mood to find out. “The same way I’m sure you would prefer I never meet Iris.”

Barry glowers. “No, that’s not gonna happen.”

Leonard holds up his hands in an exaggerated gesture of surrender. “I don’t want it to. Merely making the point.” 

The bartender comes over carrying Barry’s food. He thanks her and digs into his food as though he’s starving. He very well might be—Leonard has deduced that superspeed comes with a superhuman metabolism that Barry struggles to sate. Without assistance, Leonard doubts he’ll be able to buy enough to eat. Damn his pride—if it’s a choice between helping him through backhanded means or watching him starve, Leonard will renege on their deal. 

“You’re making faces,” Barry says around a mouthful of burger. 

There’s no point in lying. “That’s not enough for you.”

Barry scowls. Knowing what he does, Leonard ought to fear provoking him, but he’s no less adorable when he’s angry. “I’m fine. It still pisses me off that you figured out I’m…you know.” 

Precious boy. He’s right to be cautious—a place like Saints and Sinners is full of people listening for any information that might give them the upper hand. Still, “You’re not exactly discreet. Running to Elliot’s, in and out of your apartment, to and from STAR Labs…you don’t know when to slow down.”

“Well, I didn’t think I was being tailed!” Barry says hotly. 

Leonard shrugs. Originally, he’d put Shawna on it: she’s discreet, observant, and can vanish at a moment’s notice. Once she reported a possible connection to the Flash, Leonard had done a little observation himself. “Information is power. I wanted to know what I was investing in—not that I was displeased with my findings.” Quite the contrary: even without superspeed, Barry is a worthy investment. 

“So, wait, did you only keep sending me things because you knew who I was?” Barry forsakes his burger. 

“No.” Leonard is vaguely offended at the idea. The Flash is a threat to him; were he not one and the same with Barry, who’s far too sweet to hurt, Leonard would do everything in his power to eliminate him. “I told you, Barry. I grew fond of _you._ Not your cowled counterpart, but you, as sweet and clumsy and brilliant as you are.”

Barry flushes up a beautiful pink, made more adorable by the fact that he clearly wants to nurse his irritation a while longer. “I…that’s…okay, I guess.” 

Leonard could push—could overwhelm Barry with compliments just to watch him grow flustered—but that’s not his style and it’s not what Barry needs. Instead, he stays quiet and lets Barry set the pace. For a while, this involves absolute silence as Barry finishes his meal. Presently, he asks, “Why tell me?”

“Hmm?” Leonard has an idea of what he means, but he wants confirmation. 

“That you knew it was me under the cowl. You didn’t have to—I was going to back off anyway.”

Leonard shrugs. Perhaps he should have kept it to himself, a last resort should the Flash interfere in his work. It was a foolish, impulsive, _shoddy_ move, yet he can’t bring himself to regret it. “You were careless that day, almost as though you wanted me to put it together. It felt like a challenge, and one thing you should know about me, Barry—I never back down from a challenge.” 

Barry narrows his eyes as though he hears the half-truth. Leonard won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting aloud what they both undoubtedly know: that he slipped up, lost an advantage, because he was too besotted with the kid to keep a secret from him. “So you mean if I challenged you to stop your operation…”

“Then you’d have bored metahumans wandering the city without the oversight I provide. Are you sure you want to do that to yourself?” Barry’s eyes glint. Leonard continues, “I know you’re more than a match for them—you’ve proven it before—but how many people might get hurt before you put them behind bars?” 

Barry is quiet. He doesn’t accuse Leonard of using them to hurt people, for which Leonard is grateful. He’s stressed his morals plenty; evidently, Barry has listened. “Okay, no challenge.” 

The lull stretches. Suddenly, inappropriately, Leonard thinks of how easy it would be to lean over and pull Barry into a kiss. To distract himself, he asks, “Should you get back to the CCPD?”

“Yeah,” Barry says with a sigh. His apparent reluctance to leave is at odds with his contentious behavior. Leonard can’t help wondering how much of it was an act to convince himself. “Um…next week?”

“I’ll be here,” Leonard agrees. 

Barry leaves without a proper goodbye. Leonard tries to hide how intently he watches him leave. Evidently, he’s unsuccessful, if Mick’s rumbling question is any indication. “So that’s the CSI you’ve been mooning over?”

“Hey, Mick,” he drawls. 

Without being invited, Mick slides into the seat opposite him. He shoots a too-obvious glance at the door. “Cute kid, I guess, if you like ‘em breakable. Seems kinda high-strung.” 

Leonard shrugs. That’s not inaccurate, but it seems discourteous to call his—whatever Barry is to him—‘high-strung.’ “You’d be surprised.”

“I am,” Mick says bluntly. Leonard hides a smirk in his glass of water. Mick has never seen the point in gentling his sentiment. “He’s pretty, but you’re surrounded by ‘pretty.’ What’s so special about the nobody kid you’ve been bankrolling for months?” 

Leonard can’t explain, partly because he lacks a satisfactory answer. Mick is right; if he was just looking for a cute bedwarmer, he wouldn’t have to look far. Saying he’s attracted to the kid for the rush isn’t right either; he’s come up against the Flash only once, and he’d grown pathetically fond of Barry long before then. No, it’s the kid’s optimism, his kindness, his _goodness_ that lures Leonard in. If he says so, Mick will (rightly) point out that mob bosses can’t make time for sweet little do-gooders. Without blinking, he lies, “He thinks he owes me for everything I’ve sent him, and he doesn’t know when I’ll collect. I like keeping him off-balance. It’s fun.”

Mick arches an eyebrow. To him, no doubt this answer makes sense—Leonard deals in favors, in collecting at the least opportune moment and adding humiliation as interest. He knows Leonard draws the line at sexual favors, but he’ll assume Barry doesn’t know that. “So what happens when it stops being fun?”

It might. One day—no time soon, unfortunately—Leonard might come to his senses and remember how foolish it is for a mob boss to fall for a hero. Until then, though, he’s going to keep Barry around just to remind himself of all the sweet, pure things he can’t have. “Then,” he says, as is expected of him, “I collect on all the favors he owes me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brings up food issues - Barry can't afford enough food for his super-metabolism, and Len references a period of food insecurity in his past - so please feel free to skip this chapter if you need to!

Over the next few weeks, Barry’s animosity dwindles. He doesn’t revert to the naïve, doe-eyed adoration of before, but he seems to find a certain level of trust in Leonard. This gives Leonard a bizarre, warm feeling that he’s not sure he likes. He shouldn’t want Barry’s trust when he might at any moment betray it. 

About a month after their first meeting at Saints and Sinners, Barry stumbles into the bar with a bloody cut on his brow and a ghostly pallor to his skin. 

“What happened?” Leonard demands. 

Barry sinks into the seat opposite him, leans back against the bench, and closes his eyes. “I don’t feel great,” he mumbles. 

“That much is clear.” Leonard wets a napkin in his glass of water. Despite Barry’s slit-eyed glare, he reaches across the table and cleans the bloody cut. “What happened?”

“I passed out.” Barry grins weakly. “Stupid. I should have known better than to run on an empty stomach.” 

Leonard strips off his jacket and folds it into a makeshift pillow. “Lie down on the bench,” he orders. It’s a mark of how terrible he must feel that Barry obeys. Leonard makes sure he’s comfortable before hastening to the bar and asking Shawna for a glass of orange juice. She casts a curious look at his booth and makes a pensive sound. 

“Your guest doesn’t look so good.” 

“Low blood sugar,” Leonard says. “Thus, the juice.” 

She pours a tall glass of orange juice, grabs a few packets of crackers, and slides all of it across the bar to him. “Once he feels better, I’ll make him whatever he wants.” 

Leonard nods curtly. “Thank you.” 

Barry sits up to sip at the orange juice and devour the crackers. “Why these?” he asks through a mouthful of cracker. 

“When I was a kid, food was a luxury.” This isn’t a story Leonard has told anyone before. He wouldn’t tell it now if he wasn’t utterly convinced Barry needs to hear it. “I went without more days than I ate. Every so often, I would grey out and vomit. I learned fairly quickly to take a sip of orange juice, get the blood sugar back up, and eat crackers to calm the stomach.” 

Barry shakes his head. “I don’t vomit, just pass out.” He drains the glass of orange juice and continues munching his crackers. 

Leonard brushes gentle fingertips over his face under the guise of checking the gash on his forehead. “Do you feel better now?” 

“A little.” Barry leans into his touch, eyes falling half-closed in utter bliss. Leonard can’t pull away and ruin the sweet moment. If he did, he would be a monster. “Sorry about this, I didn’t mean to come in here and make you worry.” 

“If I buy you groceries, is that within the terms of our deal?” Leonard checks. He can’t watch Barry starve himself out of pride. 

“No.” Barry shakes his head. Unintentionally, he shakes his way free of Leonard’s caress. The moment he loses contact, Leonard draws his hand back. Showing that kind of affection in public is dangerous—he should know better by now. “I don’t want to be dependent on you. I shouldn’t have let you send me money in the first place.” 

Shawna interrupts them. Her expression is oddly fond when she speaks to Barry. “Hey, can I get you anything to eat?” 

“Uh…” Barry pats his pockets. “Whatever’s cheapest?” 

Leonard intercedes. “Burgers and fries for both of us, Shawna. I’ve got it.” 

She shoots him a knowing look. He answers with a small shrug. Even now, with their deal in mind, he wants so dearly to spoil Barry. 

(It means a lot to know he can take care of the people in his life. Remembering what it felt like not to be able to provide for Lisa only galvanizes his need to keep Barry safe and fed.)

“You don’t need to do that.” Barry leans back against the bench. He doesn’t look particularly upset that Leonard overrode him. Fleetingly, Leonard wonders if he wants him to violate the terms of their deal, but no—lacking a clearer indication, he won’t ignore Barry’s stated wishes. 

“You won’t let me make sure you can eat the rest of the time, fine. At least let me do this for you.” 

When the food arrives, it’s clear Shawna gave Barry an extra serving of fries. Leonard arches an eyebrow at her and she replies, “It’s on your tab, it’s not free.” There’s the attitude he expects from her. He doesn’t mind—Barry needs the calories, and he can more than afford it. 

Leonard waits for her to walk away before sliding his plate over to Barry. He’s not about to give her or the other Rogues one more excuse to tease him for being hopelessly besotted. 

“No, I can’t, you have to eat too.” Barry stares piteously at him. As is expected of him, Leonard curls his lip in a delicate sneer. 

“I’m not giving you my fries. Just take the burger.” 

Reluctantly, Barry takes his burger. He sets it on the very edge of his plate as though inviting Leonard to reclaim it—sweet boy. Leonard is perfectly content with the fries, which are thick-cut, perfectly seasoned, and pleasantly warm without being hot enough to sear taste buds. He may steal a few of Barry’s to compensate for the loss of the burger, but he’ll confine himself to two or three. 

“I’m sorry again,” Barry says. “You shouldn’t have had to know.” 

Leonard raises his eyebrows. It’s not worry that he gave away a critical weakness to a mobster—that seems not to have crossed Barry’s mind. Rather, he seems acutely ashamed to have made Leonard take care of him. _Damn_ his pride. “Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to the next civilian who gets hurt because the Flash is off his game.”

Barry bristles. As little as Leonard likes antagonizing him, there’s no other way to make him see sense. Gentle words and soft sentiment will never win him over; they haven’t re-established the trust necessary for that. He needs to hear a compelling argument if he’s going to accept Leonard’s help. “I’m not going to let someone get hurt!”

Leonard keeps his voice low. There’s no point alerting the whole of Saints to Barry’s secret identity. “Say a call comes in late. Some metahuman you’ve never fought before, whose weaknesses are unfamiliar to you. You don’t have time to eat, you’ve barely eaten all day. You get there and it’s a long fight. What are you going to do when all of that catches up to you?” 

Barry opens and closes his mouth, searching for an answer that won’t come. He’ll collapse. That’s the only answer he can offer, and he knows how unacceptable it is. 

“I won’t give you gifts, Barry.” He nods at the navy pullover Barry is wearing. Unless he’s very much mistaken, it’s one of his gifts. “Just enough food to get by.” 

“Okay, fine.” Barry sounds like nothing so much as a sulking child. Leonard has to stifle a chuckle at his tone. At least he’s accepted this much. 

At the end of their lunch, Leonard sends him off with the instructions to watch for a Visa card in his mailbox and to be careful on the way back to the precinct. Barry nods; then, reluctance written all over his face, he gives Leonard a quick hug. “Thank you.”

As soon as Barry is gone, Shawna teleports into his abandoned seat. “He’s hugging you now, Boss?” 

Leonard sips his drink. “No comment.” 

“He’s cute,” she continues, ignoring the implicit threat. “Even if he is the Flash.” 

Leonard sighs. Of course Shawna put it together; he can only hope she hasn’t told the other Rogues. That isn’t something he’s eager to explain to, say, Mark Mardon (to say nothing of the way Mick will react). 

“Don’t worry, Boss, I haven’t told anyone.” Shawna steals the last of his fries. He swats halfheartedly at her hand but makes no real effort to stop her. “I figure you have a plan of some kind. Just…you looked kinda soft on him there, earlier. Be careful getting involved with the guy who’ll speed any of us off to prison in a heartbeat.”

It’s good advice, if only his heart would take it. “I know, ‘Boo.”

“Hey honey!” someone calls from across the bar. “What’s a guy gotta do to get quick service around here?”

Leonard raises an eyebrow, silent permission to go ahead. Shawna makes a show of stretching her arms out in front of her and cracking her knuckles. “This’ll only take a minute, Boss.” 

“Go get him, ‘Boo.” 

Leonard only half-watches as Shawna teleports across the bar to give the unfortunate frat guy the ‘quick service’ of a few good punches. His thoughts wander back to Barry. Wherever he is, Leonard hopes he’s safe.


	4. Chapter 4

“So who are they, Lenny?”

Leonard glances over to the kitchen counter. Lisa is draped over one of the chairs, a smoothie in her hand and an inquisitive, slightly smug smile on her face. She wasn’t there when he left, but he’s used to her intrusions by now. “Hey, trainwreck. If you made that here, you’re cleaning the blender.” 

Lisa ignores him. “You’ve been sending money to somebody, and then you stopped, and now you started again. So either you’ve found someone new to bankroll or you and your partner were on a break, and breaks mean details. So give me details.” 

Leonard can’t possibly give her the full story. He’s loath even to give her the abbreviated version, although she’ll pry it from him one way or another. _“He_ figured out who I am.”

Lisa raises her eyebrows. “And that didn’t scare him off permanently? Lenny, you might have found a keeper—or a gold digger.”

Leonard narrows his eyes. “He’s not a gold digger, Lise. He doesn’t want my money; that’s why I stopped sending it. I had to convince him to let me send him enough to buy groceries.”

Lisa coos. The hand not holding her smoothie flies to her mouth but doesn’t touch her lips—she doesn’t want to smear her lipstick. “Ohh, Lenny. You can’t just let someone be, can you?”

No, he can’t. It’s becoming a problem where Barry is concerned. He’s not going to admit that to his sister; he barely wants to admit it to himself.

Lisa shifts so her chin rests in her cupped hand. Her expression becomes exaggeratedly attentive. Leonard steels himself for an interrogation. “So what’s he like? Is he cute? He’d have to be for you to be this persistent.”

She won’t stop unless Leonard gives a little. Reluctantly, he admits, “Yes, he’s cute. Little and feisty and stubborn, but cute.” 

“Aww.” Lisa sips her smoothie. “Come on, tell me more. What does he do? What is he like? I need details, Lenny.”

“He’s a CSI,” Leonard admits. “He’s optimistic and naïve and he wants to see the best in me even now that he knows what I am. He’s too good for me, but I’m selfish and can’t let him go.” Too late, he realizes he’s said too much. He has to watch as Lisa’s face softens into unwanted pity. 

“He came back,” she says gently. “Clearly he sees something in you worth loving, and it’s not your money. I’m glad. After all these years, you deserve someone who’s going to love you for who you are.”

Leonard shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve anything, much less Barry’s affection. 

“Don’t take it in a weird way.” Lisa purses her lips. “I’m not saying you deserve him like you’re entitled to him. I’m saying you deserve love, and he seems to want to give that to you.” She finishes her smoothie and goes to rinse the glass.

This conversation has taken a turn from which there’s no rescuing it. Leonard opts to start a new one. “All this talk about my dating life, what about yours? Are you still flirting with Shawna?”

She snorts. “Stay up to date, Lenny. We got each other out of our systems the last time we pulled a heist.”

Leonard’s eyes widen. That explains a lot, not least why Shawna walked into Saints looking suspiciously tousled. “I…don’t think I needed to know that.”

She tucks the smoothie glass into the dishwasher. “Have you taken your little CSI to bed yet, or are you waiting for some arbitrary number of dates?”

Leonard isn’t going to dignify that with an answer. Instead, he busies himself with washing the blender, despite having said he would make Lisa do it. 

“You haven’t, have you?” Lisa teases. “Aww. I need to meet this little cutie who’s convinced you to take it slow.”

The mere idea fills Leonard with dread. He can’t decide whether Lisa would come on too strong and mortify Barry or whether Barry would give as good as he got. From what he’s seen, he suspects the former, but every so often, Barry surprises him. “No, no you don’t.” 

“Spoilsport,” Lisa mutters. Without being asked, she steps to his side and dries the blender. “Also, I wanna do another Rogues karaoke night. I want to see if Mick can sing.” 

“He can’t,” Leonard replies on instinct. Juvie taught him many things, including that Mick can’t carry a tune in a bucket. (Neither, for that matter, can Lisa, but she doesn’t let that deter her.) “And I make no promises that I’ll come with. The bar you like is a little close to Santini territory for me.” 

“Aww, but I like getting video of you singing. It makes great blackmail material—plus, I bet your cute CSI would like to see it.” Lisa leans over and daubs dish soap on his nose. In retaliation, he turns on the kitchen sink and splashes her. “Fine, I guess we’ll go have a great team bonding experience without you. I’ll let Mark pick the date, he knows when everyone is free.” 

At least, with Mark picking the date, Leonard shouldn’t have to shift schedules at Saints and Sinners. Lisa has a tendency to pick dates at random and leave him without a bartender. “Have fun.”

She grins brightly. “I will.”


	5. Chapter 5

Barry leans back in his seat. There’s a little bit of a pleasant haze settling over his thoughts, courtesy of Caitlin and Cisco’s Flash-proof liquor. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t let himself get drunk—it’s too much of a risk—but the team has asked for one night to relax, and he couldn’t say no to spending more time with his friends. 

“Dude. Dude, you’ve gotta sing.” 

For a second, Barry thinks Cisco is talking to him. He’s about to protest (he had enough of karaoke when Caitlin dragged him onstage) until he sees that Cisco is talking to Hartley. 

“No,” Hartley mutters. He’s nursing a club soda and eyeing their drinks, particularly Barry’s, warily. 

“You can sing, I’ve heard you,” Cisco presses. To Barry, he says, “I walked into his lab three days ago and found him having an existential crisis over Singh, in verse. It was kinda funny, but _damn.”_

To Barry’s surprise, Hartley concedes, “Fine. I will sing if you sing with me.” Under his breath, he adds, “And I wasn’t having an existential crisis. I just like _Spring Awakening.”_

If he thinks asking Cisco to sing will deter him, he’s sadly mistaken. “Sure!” Cisco leaps to his feet and hurries off in the direction of the DJ. Hartley watches him with dismay. 

“He can sing,” Caitlin chips in, sipping her drink. She wraps an arm around Ronnie’s shoulders. “We used to come here all the time before the particle accelerator explosion. Ronnie isn’t too bad either, but Cisco has a gorgeous voice.” 

“I reserve the right to decide for myself,” Hartley says, although he looks somewhat appeased. Barry wonders if he’s going to try to mask his voice with Cisco’s. If he does, that would be a pity; Barry wants to hear what kind of voice can get such an eager ‘damn’ out of Cisco. “Well, now you’re giving me ideas.”

Oops, Barry said that out loud. He means to apologize, giggles instead, and lets the entire exchange slip from his mind. It’s been a long time since he got this buzzed, and he likes it. 

Cisco bounces back to the table, his eyes twinkling as though he’s been up to mischief. Barry can only imagine what song he requested. “Okay, I got us a song.”

Hartley arches an eyebrow. “Is it a love song? Because I think David will have things to say about that.”

“Nope, not a love song,” Cisco says in a way that implies it’s something worse. 

They don’t have long to wait. After a mediocre rendition of ‘Take On Me’ and a gleeful version of ‘High Hopes,’ Cisco and Hartley are called to the stage. Cisco seizes the microphone with such bravado that he earns a laugh from the audience; Hartley, by contrast, tucks his hands in his pockets and looks ill at ease. When the music starts, he glares at Cisco. 

_“Really?”_

“You said no love songs,” Cisco says with a shrug. Then, beaming, he launches into the opening lines of ‘Telephone.’ 

Cisco puts on such a show—flipping his hair, making funny faces, and generally being adorable—that Barry thinks Hartley will fade into the background. Oh, how wrong he is. Hartley seems to take Cisco’s showmanship as a challenge, because when it’s time for him to sing, he grabs the microphone, glares a challenge at Cisco, and moves his hips to the beat while he sings. Barry entertains the fleeting thought that, were they both single, he would happily take Hartley onto the dance floor to see if he’d move as confidently with a partner. 

“Oh, damn, me too,” Caitlin agrees absentmindedly. Whoops, Barry said that out loud. 

“Why is everyone so _pretty?”_ he whines when Cisco and Hartley start singing together. Now it’s an obvious competition, and clearly, the audience is winning. 

“Because you’re bi and tipsy, and they’re showing off.” Caitlin doesn’t look nearly as unaffected as she’s pretending. Thankfully, Ronnie seems more amused than jealous. 

Barry doesn’t manage to stop staring by the time the two of them return to the table. Hartley smirks at him; Cisco preens. “I know, I know, I’ve got moves. Gotta say I didn’t foresee this guy dancing like that, which was _not fair…”_ He pauses to glower at Hartley. “But still, I’ve got moves.”

“Yeah, you do,” Barry agrees. It wasn’t like he had a brain-to-mouth filter anyway, he consoles himself. Even if he wasn’t pleasantly buzzed, he’d probably embarrass himself. 

“Y’know, if things weren’t ‘complicated’ between you and your unnamed sugar daddy, that look could give a guy ideas,” Cisco says. 

Right. Barry is taken. He should probably tone down the staring. “Sorry.”

“You know,” Ronnie ventures, “I could sing.”

“Oooh!” Caitlin perks up. “Come on. I’ll help you choose a song!”

They wander off to talk to the DJ. No sooner have they disappeared into the crowd than a tall, stunning woman takes Caitlin’s seat. Cisco jumps. “Uh, hi!” 

“Hi,” she says. There’s a little bit of a blush on her cheeks; Barry can’t decide whether she’s embarrassed or tipsy. “Um, I think I may have stared too much, because my friends told me to come over and tell you that you’re a really good singer.”

Cisco turns five different shades of red in as many seconds and buries his face in his hands. “Uh, okay,” he squeaks, peeking out from between his fingers. “This, this is really happening, right? It’s not like a joke or something?” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The woman smiles. Something about her expression seems familiar, but Barry can’t put his finger on it. “I’m Lisa. And you’re…Cisco?”

“I hope so,” Hartley mutters. Barry claps a hand over his mouth to stifle a giggle. 

“You know, I was going to get up and sing, but now I think I would just embarrass myself,” Lisa admits. 

“No! No, I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Cisco emerges from behind his hands. He’s still blushing, albeit much less brightly than before. “I would love to hear you sing.”

Lisa shakes her head. “No, you wouldn’t. My brother despairs of me. He got the good voice, I got the good looks.” 

“I’ll say,” Cisco agrees. When Lisa laughs, he babbles, “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. Oh God, please leave before I make a fool of myself?” 

“Yeah, I should go.” She glances over her shoulder. “My friends aren’t the kind of people who should be left to their own devices for very long. It was nice to meet you, Cisco.”

“Um, I could give you my number?” he blurts. “Because then, y’know, you get to make the first move, which is good because it means I won’t creep you out or anything and also I’m really bad at making the first move, like really bad, and I’ll shut up now.” 

She gives him the sort of indulgent, half-charmed look that Barry associates with Len. “I’d like that.” 

While Cisco plugs his number into Lisa’s phone, Barry ventures, “Do you ice skate?”

Lisa raises an eyebrow at him. “I do. How do you know?” 

_Victory._ He thought he remembered Len’s sister being called Lisa, but this settles it. There can’t possibly be that many ice-skating Lisas in Central City, and even if there are, surely they wouldn’t remind him of Len in quite this way. “I think I know your brother. Tall, kinda reserved, eyes like a dream?” 

Lisa makes a face like she’s stifling a laugh. Barry wonders what he said to amuse her before realizing that ‘eyes like a dream’ is perhaps not the subtlest of ways to announce how he knows Len. “Oh, _you’re_ his little CSI.” She makes a show of looking him over. “You’re even cuter than I thought you’d be. No wonder Lenny wants to eat you up.” 

It’s Barry’s turn to blush several shades of red in a matter of seconds. Cisco looks up and demands, “Wait, you two know each other?”

“We have a mutual acquaintance,” Lisa purrs. She takes her phone back and brushes her fingertips lightly through Cisco’s curls. “Later, Cisco.”

Barry tries to track her across the bar but loses sight of her in the crowd. After she’s gone, Cisco leans over and whispers, “Did I imagine that?”

“Nope.” Barry can only imagine what Len will do when he hears about this. He’ll either laugh himself sick or freeze Barry into a Flashcicle—there’s no in between. “Not imagining things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason I had Hartley and Cisco sing 'Telephone' is because of [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C8HhF_4bZtA).


	6. Chapter 6

The last thing Leonard expects is for Barry to have company when he walks into Saints and Sinners. He recognizes Cisco Ramon, who’s the closest thing the Flash has to a handler. It was foolish of Barry to bring him: the Rogues may not recognize Barry, but they all know Cisco. 

“This is the right place?” Cisco asks. His voice is tight with panic. “Because, uh, this seems kinda…y’know…creepy?” 

“No, this is the right place.” Barry waves at Mark, who’s taken a shine to him. (Leonard can’t keep from smirking every time he sees them interact. Mark will be furious if he ever figures out who Barry is.) “I just don’t see—”

“Lisa!” Cisco yelps. Leonard is instantly on high alert. He wants to know how this kid knows his sister, what his intentions are, and whether Lisa is putting herself at risk again. Unfortunately, the kid’s wide eyes and his sister’s saunter tell him plenty. Lisa made the first move, and she’s going to have to keep making first moves if the kid’s blush is any indication. 

“Hey, Cisco.” She catches him by the wrist and tugs him toward a booth. Leonard meets her eyes and arches an eyebrow. She wrinkles her nose at him. “Long time no see.” 

“Y-yeah.” Cisco’s free hand goes immediately to his hair. “Uh…Barry, where are you going?”

“Trust me.” Lisa catches Leonard’s eye again. “We’re not going with him.” 

She leads Cisco to a corner booth out of Leonard’s line of sight. After they sit down, Barry wanders over to him. “Uh, hi, sorry,” he mumbles. His eyes are locked on the table—he thinks Leonard is angry. (He’s not wrong.) “They met at karaoke and I figured out who Lisa was and I thought you’d be upset but I couldn’t exactly tell Cisco he’s dating your sister, y’know?” 

Leonard hears what Barry is too wise to blurt in public: that Cisco is dating _Boss Cold’s_ sister. “Lisa does as she pleases,” he says. He used to interfere, until she snapped at him that he was becoming as much of a controlling misogynist as Lewis. “If I were you, I’d worry more about your friend. Lisa can handle herself.” 

He’s not going to tell Barry that Lisa has a penchant for dating abusive assholes. She, like Leonard, lost all sense of what’s ‘good’ or ‘right’ early in childhood. If Cisco crosses a line too soon, she’ll do him lasting damage; if he plays any kind of long game, she’ll let it happen. That’s Leonard’s problem to watch for, not Barry’s. 

“Cisco is…probably going to be okay.” Barry casts a glance over his shoulder, which is cute given that Cisco and Lisa are out of sight. Leonard knows that expression; he’s made it himself a few times. In another world, Barry and Cisco might be sweet together. “Lisa seems to like him.”

“That’s the problem,” Leonard agrees. “My sister has no idea what normal love looks like. She tends to come on strong and then pull away.” Unspoken is the fact that he’s gone to the opposite extreme: stay detached at all costs. It’s worked until now. 

“Then Cisco might be good for her.” Barry offers a reserved smile. “He kinda does the same thing.” 

Leonard wonders if Barry is implying that he hopes to be as good a match for Leonard as Cisco allegedly will be for Lisa. If so, he’s in for a rude awakening. There’s nothing left of Leonard’s heart to fix, and Barry will get hurt if he tries. “How did you recognize her?”

“At karaoke?” Barry ducks his head. “Um, the way she looked at Cisco kinda reminded me of the way you look at me.” 

Leonard wonders what look he means. “Oh?”

“The way you do when I’m clumsy or ramble too much.” 

That explains it. Leonard makes an effort to show how fond he is of Barry’s little quirks because of how obviously, achingly self-conscious he is about them. That Lisa would do the same for someone she’d only just met surprises him. Perhaps Cisco is as endearingly awkward as Barry. 

“Hey, Barry.” Mark props his hip against the edge of the table. The look he turns on Barry is openly fond, almost brotherly; he seems to view Barry’s bumbling sweetness as worthy of protection. “Something to eat?”

“Uh.” Barry glances at Leonard. He’s asking permission, which breaks Leonard’s heart because he knows Barry will accept a ‘no.’ Leonard opts to take it as a request to order for him. 

“I’ll have my usual. He’ll have the chicken sandwich and as many helpings of fries as you want to put on my tab.”

Mark’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Careful, Boss, that’s a lotta power to give me.” 

“It’s—it’s okay,” Barry interjects. “I don’t need extra of anything.” 

Mark looks him up and down. “You look like a swimmer, kid,” he says fondly. “I bet you need to eat a lot. Clyde took swimming lessons when we were little. He was always ravenous afterward.” 

Barry waits until Mark is back behind the bar to murmur, “I hate that he looks at me like that. It makes me feel like such a creep for not telling him who I am.” 

“So you want him to try to kill you?” Leonard asks. Of course Barry, who is at heart an honest and honorable man, would feel guilty for keeping his secret identity a secret. 

“No! I just…don’t want him to like me when I’m half the reason his brother is dead.” 

Leonard shakes his head. He’s made Mark and Barry recount the story (individually, of course), and both of them agree Detective West pulled the trigger. “You weren’t responsible for Clyde’s death. You were wounded, you were down. Detective West pulled the trigger.” In the same situation, Leonard can’t guarantee he wouldn’t do the same thing. He could no more tolerate a threat to Barry than he could to Lisa or any of his Rogues. 

“If I’d been faster, I could have taken him down without lethal force.” Barry traces his fingertip over gouges in the wooden tabletop. 

“On your first mission?” Leonard drawls. “I’m surprised you weren’t killed.” It’s all-too-easy to imagine Barry’s storm-tossed, broken body discarded in the middle of nowhere. He reaches over and clasps Barry’s hand to chase away the thought. “You’re not to blame.”

“I know.” Barry squeezes his fingers, his way of asking for more pressure. Agreeably, Leonard squeezes back. “I just don’t like lying.” 

This sweet boy wasn’t cut out to be a masked hero, Leonard muses. He’s made to be cared for (spoiled) between bouts of hyperfocusing on science. “It isn’t lying if it’s protecting the people you love.” He nods at the corner booth, from which familiar laughter emanates. At least the kid makes Lisa laugh. “How do you think my sister or the Rogues would react if they knew your little friend is the Flash’s handler?”

Barry hangs his head. “I guess you’ve got a point.” 

When Mark comes over with the food, Barry gives him a sunny-sweet smile and thanks him. Mark claps a hand on his shoulder, shoots Leonard a teasing look, and vanishes back behind the bar. Leonard knows what that look means, and he has to agree—Barry _is_ cute. 

Once their respective dates leave, Lisa slides into Barry’s abandoned seat and steals Leonard’s last fry. “Your little CSI is precious,” she says without preamble. 

“Your…whatever he is…made you laugh. I guess I don’t have to kill him.” 

She swats at his arm. “Be nice, Lenny. Cisco is…he’s sweet, and he’s shy, and I feel like maybe this time things could be different.” In a voice so low Leonard struggles to hear her, she admits, “I just don’t know if I can handle it if they are.” 

He nods. He feels the same way with Barry; it’s been months since they first met, and Leonard still doesn’t know how to open up to him in a meaningful way. (He’s opened up more than with any previous date. That doesn’t mean it’s enough.) “Try letting him set the pace. When you’ve caught yourself a hopeless little do-gooder, they do their best to take care of you.”

She quirks her lips. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

Leonard gets to his feet. He needs to huddle with Mick over the final plans for hitting the Central City Art Museum in two days. They’ll go in themselves—after close to two years of planning and organizing, Leonard craves the rush he used to get from a successful heist. Before he can head for the back room, Lisa catches his arm. 

“You know, if your little CSI sets a pace you like, you have to keep up with him.” 

He narrows his eyes. “Isn’t it my job to impart words of wisdom?” 

She shrugs and takes a preemptive step backwards. “It could be, if you had any wisdom to impart.” Then, laughing, she runs for the door.


	7. Chapter 7

Leonard feels as high on adrenaline as he did years ago, when he was an amateur. It will get him killed if he isn’t careful. Thankfully, Mick must be able to tell, because he lays a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

“Been a long time, Boss?”

“Too long,” Leonard agrees. He remembers a time—before the takeover, before the Rogues—when he lived for an adrenaline rush like this. He can’t pinpoint the moment he went wrong, but he did; he would never have given this up otherwise. 

The museum is in sight when there’s a flash of light. Leonard draws his cold gun, expecting to finally come up against the Flash. Instead, a speedster clad all in black—Zoom, whom Leonard knows from listening to the police scanner—stands in front of them. The Flash dangles from his hand like a rag doll. 

“What the hell?” Mick rumbles. 

Zoom sneers. “Petty criminals I can support,” he rumbles in an artificial voice. “Give this city all the chaos it deserves. The _Flash,_ on the other hand…” He spits the moniker as though it’s poison. The Flash gives a piteous moan and struggles to lift his head. 

With barely a thought, Leonard aims the cold gun. Ice encases Zoom from his chest to his feet, effectively freezing him in place. Both of his hands remain free. As Leonard hoped, he drops the Flash and scrabbles at the ice. 

“Cold is a brutal way to kill,” Leonard drawls. He keeps the gun in one hand as he strides over to the fallen Flash. The kid is insensible; even a nudge from Leonard’s boot doesn’t wake him. Leonard bends down, grabs his wrist, and pulls him out of the way. “Not only is it painfully prolonged, but it slows metas—even speedsters—so much that they can’t escape.”

Zoom makes a feeble attempt to shatter the ice. Leonard takes his eyes off the Flash just long enough to freeze Zoom’s arms to his sides. 

“If you don’t get help, you’ll die slowly. But since I’m feeling generous…” 

He changes the setting on the cold gun. The next time he fires, an icicle forms through Zoom’s heart.

“I’m no petty criminal.” This is primarily for Mick’s benefit. He knows Leonard to be fiercely proud: killing someone over an insult isn’t unlike him. Hopefully, it will be enough to keep him from wondering about possible connections to the Flash. 

Mick raises his eyebrows. “So I guess the museum’s out tonight. Place is about to be crawling with cops.”

Leonard glances down at the unconscious Flash. He doesn’t want to leave the kid for the cops to find; they don’t know his identity, and Leonard doesn’t know what they’ll do if they find out. Finally, he scoops the kid in his arms and beckons Mick along. 

“What are you doing?” Mick rumbles. 

This isn’t very Boss-Cold-like behavior. Leonard is going to need to think of what the advantage might be for him. “Imagine what more we could do with the Flash locked up, cold and docile.” 

Mick’s eyebrows climb impossibly higher. Leonard has only seen him look like this a handful of times, never in a good context. “For crime or for sex? Because that’s pretty clearly your little boytoy.” 

Leonard considers banging his head against the nearest wall. Of course Mick noticed. He’s startlingly observant, not that he’ll ever admit it. It suits him to act unintelligent, the same way it suits Leonard to act cold. _“You_ don’t get to have sex with him.”

“So you’re gonna keep him in bed while I’m out doing crime?” Mick shrugs. “Seems ideal for all of us.”

Leonard is really having this conversation. On the list of conversations he never thought he would have (or wanted to have), this is near the top. “Well, I think he might have some objections.”

Mick grunts. “I’ve heard what happens when you get busy, Snart. He won’t complain.” 

Leonard is not having this conversation. He adjusts his hold on the kid (Barry is heartbreakingly light) and fixes his gaze forward. “Go home, Mick.” 

“Have fun.” Mick offers a cheery wave. “We’ll hit the museum another night. Or maybe I will. Alone.”

If Leonard was near a door, he would hasten to put it between them. Unfortunately, he still has several blocks to go before reaching a safe house. Even though Mick breaks away and heads down an alley, there’s a distressing lack of doors to slam.

By the time they reach a safe house, Barry is conscious enough to struggle against Leonard’s hold. Leonard makes soft hushing noises that lull him into temporary silence. Before long, he struggles again.

“I’m here.” Leonard sets the kid on his feet just long enough to unlock the door. Barry almost crumples to the pavement; only Leonard’s arm around his waist keeps him upright. He whimpers and, to Leonard’s surprise, curls closer. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” 

He bundles Barry into the house, spreads him out on the sofa, and looks him over. His breathing is shallow and raspy. When Leonard pulls the cowl away from his head and neck, he finds a ring of blue-black bruises on his throat. 

“Oh, Barry.” He combs his fingers through the kid’s tousled hair. 

“Hmm?” Barry’s eyes flutter. He jumps and tries to scramble away from Leonard’s touch. “Len! What happened, where—where’s Zoom? Where am I? How did I get here?” His words break off into a deep, wracking cough. Leonard guides him into a sitting position so he can breathe more easily. 

“Careful,” he murmurs. “That bastard choked you. Talking will be hard.” 

Barry presses against the arm of the sofa. Leonard sits down beside him and lays a steadying hand between his shoulders. 

“You’re in one of my safe houses. Zoom stopped in front of me, holding you like some kind of doll.” Rage coils in Leonard’s stomach. He should have left Zoom to die slowly, frozen over except for his face. “I froze him and brought you here to make sure you’re not hurt.”

“You froze him?” Barry demands. “You mean you killed him?”

“He was going to kill you.” Leonard refuses to apologize for murdering a murderer. “I did what I had to do to protect you.”

He expects Barry to chide him (“I can protect myself, Len!”). Instead, he curls in on himself. One gauntleted hand drifts to the emblem on his chest and traces the lightning bolt. “Zoom stole my speed,” he confesses in a whisper. “I’m not the Flash anymore. I’m just _Barry.”_ He spits the name with such loathing that Leonard has to scoop him into his lap. 

“Whatever that speedy bastard did to you, you aren’t _just_ anything.” He wraps his arm around Barry’s slender waist. The kid hunkers into him, wincing with every movement. He should demand to check him over for other wounds. As malicious as Zoom is—and the police scanners spared no detail—Leonard doubts he would let Barry off with just a few bruises. “You’re not special because you’re the Flash. The Flash is a hero because he’s Barry Allen. _Never_ let yourself believe otherwise.” 

Barry’s mouth opens and closes uselessly. He wants to deny it—Leonard knows him too well to believe otherwise—but he’s hesitating. 

“Let me look you over.” He skims a hand down the curve of Barry’s back. The kid flinches when his hand brushes over his shoulders. “Without your speed, you won’t heal as quickly, will you?”

Barry shakes his head. Stiffly, he gets to his feet and removes the top half of the Flash suit. It falls in a graceless heap to the floor. Without the suit, he looks painfully breakable. Bruises bloom purple and plentiful across his torso. Leonard doesn’t see any lacerations. That doesn’t reassure him. Without his powers to protect him, a speedster’s punch might have caused Barry serious internal damage. 

“You’ll need to put ice on that.” Leonard gets to his feet. Without being told, Barry trails him to the kitchen. “You should go back to STAR Labs and have them look you over.” 

“I know.” Barry accepts an ice pack and presses it to the bruise on his side. “I just…I don’t want them to see me like this.”

“What? Without your powers?” Leonard gentles his derision as he thinks about it. Barry’s powers are as protective to him as the Boss Cold persona is to Leonard. Were he too disoriented to maintain the persona—too drugged or badly wounded to think—he would hide himself away even if it kept him from much-needed help. “Yet you trust me?”

“Yeah.” Barry’s answer is immediate. He glances up at Leonard quizzically, as though he can’t fathom why such a question would need to be asked. “Of course I do.” 

Leonard isn’t worthy of such unquestioning confidence. When faced with it, he can only say, “They’ll worry about you. You owe it to them to let them see you’re alive.”

“I guess so.” Barry casts about for the top half of his suit. He must have forgotten he shed it in the living room. “I…don’t know how to thank you. You didn’t have to. Um. Save me. Put yourself in danger to save me.”

“Of course I did.” That should worry him. He can’t bring himself to be worried. “Here, Barry. I’ll take you.”

Over Barry’s protests, Leonard bundles him into his suit, tucks him into the seldom-used sidecar, and drives him over to STAR Labs. By the time they get there, the kid is shivering. Leonard has to help him out of the sidecar. On instinct, he drapes his parka over his shoulders. 

“I’ll need that back,” he says, trying to disguise the level of intimacy in that simple motion. “It’s an integral part of my costume.”

Barry protests, “I shouldn’t take it!” even as he huddles into the fabric. 

“Go.” Leonard nudges him toward STAR Labs. “I expect to see you at Saints on Friday, and you’d best have my parka.”

Barry drifts toward the door. He looks small and fragile and so dreadfully lost. Leonard is almost tempted to walk him inside, but no: the less Barry’s team sees of him, the better. 

“Be safe, Flash,” he whispers. He doubts Barry hears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me. I didn't plan on having this much plot, and I don't know what to do with smol de-powered Barry.


	8. Chapter 8

The next week, Barry wanders into Saints wearing Leonard’s parka. He stops to say a listless ‘hello’ to Shawna, who feels his forehead as though worried. As he approaches Leonard’s booth, he sheds the parka and shivers. 

“Are you okay?” Leonard folds the parka out of habit and stows it beside him on the bench. Barry sits down opposite him, wraps his arms around himself, and rocks slowly back and forth. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbles. “I’m just cold. You get used to speedster heat after a while.” 

He’s wearing two of the three pullovers Leonard sent him and still looks like a kitten caught in a snowstorm. Leonard beckons him over to the other side of the booth. “Come here.”

Obediently, Barry perches on the bench beside him. Leonard wraps an arm around his waist and cuddles him close. Now that Barry mentions it, he can feel the loss of that familiar heat. Without it, Barry feels clammy-cold, almost sickly. No wonder he’s shivering. 

“What did your friends have to say?” Leonard settles his hand comfortably on Barry’s waist. He’s used to some firmness beneath his hand—for as slender as he is, Barry is well-muscled. He’s unprepared for how thin and soft Barry feels. If he presses too hard, he might shatter him. 

“I’m stuck like this.” It’s barely a whisper. “There isn’t a way to get my power back. I’m just going to be _this_ forever.” 

Leonard rocks him slowly back and forth. It would be too easy to heap praise on him—that being ‘just Barry’ is no small feat, that he’s a brilliant and hopeful man with endless potential—but doing so would suffocate him. Barry needs to feel heard before he can accept reassurance. If Leonard knows anything about the hopeless do-gooders at STAR Labs, they’ve probably missed that in their zeal to comfort him. “So Zoom didn’t just steal your speed? He took all of it—the dark matter, everything.”

Barry shrugs. “I don’t know. It wasn’t the dark matter that gave me my powers, it was the lightning, and he—” His voice breaks. “He took my lightning. I felt it when it went away. I don’t know how to get it back.”

Leonard feels obligated to ask a terrible question. “If I had left him alive, would you have been able to steal it back from him?”

Barry recoils, his sweet face contorted in horror. “I wouldn’t want it back!” he snaps. “He tainted it when he took it, all his lightning is _wrong_ because he took Velocity 9. I want _my_ lightning back.” He curls in on himself as though the loss of his speed is a physical ache. Watching him, Leonard wishes he’d taken the time to kill Zoom slowly. It would break Barry’s innocent heart to know that a man was tortured on his behalf, but little else could assuage the impotent fury Leonard feels for what happened to him. 

“Has this happened before?” 

Barry nods miserably. “I had my powers siphoned once before. It took a massive electrical shock to get them back, and my cells…my cells were still primed, I still had dark matter in me. Caitlin says that’s gone.” 

Dark matter and a jolt. Leonard can come by the latter easily enough, although he doesn’t know what he would tell Mark about why he was electrocuting someone. The former, though…Leonard can’t offer help there. “I don’t know how to help,” he confesses. 

“’S okay.” Barry snuggles closer to his shoulder. “It means a lot that you’re listening to me.” 

“Of course.” Leonard rests his cheek against the top of Barry’s head. In doing so, he meets Shawna’s eyes. Without a word, she disappears into the kitchen and reappears with a basket of fries. “That’s all I want to do for you.”

When Shawna brings over the fries, Barry thanks her and picks at them. It’s such a contrast to his usually ravenous appetite that Leonard worries anew. Part of losing his speed would be losing his super-metabolism; that follows logically. This is more than that. 

“Eat something,” he coaxes. 

Barry pushes the basket toward him and sips his coffee. “You won’t have to send me grocery money anymore,” he whispers. “Without my Flash metabolism, I won’t have to eat as much. I’ll be able to cover it.” 

Leonard nods, although the thought is repulsive. He _likes_ providing for Barry. Still, it means more to respect his wishes. “Do you want me to anyway?”

Barry glances up at him. Before, there might have been a spark of irritation at the thought of accepting mob money without a reason. Now, he looks too deeply, bone-achingly weary to care. “I don’t know. I…I can’t, right now.” 

Leonard will err on the side of respecting Barry’s morals, as foreign as they are to him. “If you need it again, all you have to do is say the word.” 

Barry nods, a dull expression on his face like he hasn’t really heard. Leonard will remind him again—hopefully, after they figure out how to return his lightning to him again.


	9. Chapter 9

Without his speed, Barry can no longer run to Saints. When he arrives flustered from a cab ride, Leonard proposes, “Do you want me to come to your apartment again?” 

“Like, for dinner?” Barry’s eyes widen. “I…my apartment is kind of a mess right now…”

“Not tonight. Say next weekend.” Leonard takes Barry’s hand in his and plays with his fingers. “It would give us time to catch up without you needing to go so far out of your way.” 

Barry watches the slow, aimless play of Leonard’s fingers across his palm. “I’d like that,” he says eventually. “I can, um, cook again. Is there anything I definitely shouldn’t cook?”

“Pork.” Leonard barely keeps kosher, but that’s one rule he won’t break. Anyway, if Lisa can be believed, he’s not missing much. “Other than that, I’ll trust your judgment.”

Barry rocks side to side. There’s a sweet little smile on his face that Leonard would like to kiss, but no—Barry hasn’t given him permission. “Okay,” he murmurs, his voice soft and singsong. “We can do that.”

Unlike before, when Barry could linger over his meal and be back to CCPD in a flash, he has to be conscious of his time. This affords them much less time to talk than Leonard would like. Before Barry leaves, Leonard clasps his hand again and says, "I look forward to next weekend."

Barry makes a soft, happy sound. "Me too."

No sooner has Barry left, rocking gently as he goes, then Lisa slides into his abandoned seat. “Ooooh, you’re having dinner with your sweet little CSI?”

Leonard rolls his eyes. “Must you listen in?”

“And at his apartment, too.” She waggles her eyebrows in a way that he hopes to never see again. “I’m gonna need details, Lenny.”

“You distress me,” he sighs. 

She steals the last of his fries. “Oh, I haven’t even gotten started.” To his alarm, she casts an exaggerated glance around the bar. Then she leans across the table and whispers, “Do your Rogues know you’re head over heels for the ex-Flash?” 

Of course she knows. Leonard likes to think he’s not _that_ bad at keeping a secret, so, “What did Ramon tell you?”

She pouts. _“Cisco_ has been a perfect gentleman and hasn’t told me anything. Give a girl some credit. All the buzz about the Flash going missing for a week, maybe losing his powers, and at the same time your cute little CSI looks like he’s sick?” She slurps obnoxiously from her straw to emphasize the point. “Good for business, I imagine.”

Ashamed as he is to admit it, taking advantage of Barry’s powerlessness to pull more grandiose heists hasn’t crossed Leonard’s mind. He really has gone soft. “To answer your question, no, they don’t know. Or they don’t all know.” Sam and Rosa are seldom around the bar and so have little reason to know. Mark hasn’t yet realized, which Leonard attributes mostly to his fondness for Barry; even if he has a suspicion, he may not want to admit it. 

Lisa leans back against the bench. “A forbidden love,” she coos. “How unexpectedly romantic of you, jerk. I didn’t think you were one for doomed love stories.” 

“You’re cordially invited to worry about your own romantic issues.” Leonard fishes an ice chip out of the bottom of his glass and sucks on it. 

As she gets to her feet, she teases, “Break his bed, not his heart, as they say.” At a loss for how to respond, Leonard pretends he doesn’t hear. With any luck, nothing—including furniture—will be broken after their date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I finally have a plan for the rest of the story. I just want to check - should the ending chapter include smut or not? I'll warn for it if it does - otherwise, I can publish the smut as a separate part of the series.


	10. Chapter 10

Leonard arrives at Barry’s flat at half past five. He hesitates before knocking. After all that’s happened, should he be here? Does he have a right? Did he actually give Barry a choice, or did he pressure him into thinking the only acceptable answer was ‘yes’? 

He’s half convinced himself to turn around when the door swings open. Barry draws up short upon seeing him outside. “Oh! I thought maybe you got delayed or something, and then I was afraid you might be in danger, and…”

Precious boy. “No. May I come in?” 

Barry stands aside. His expression turns sheepish as Leonard takes in the stack of magazines on the coffee table, the scattering of jackets and cardigans on the end of the sofa, and the pile of dishes in the sink. “I cleaned up as much as I could, but without my speed I’m kind of useless…”

“Shh.” Leonard catches Barry’s hand in his. His eyes widen and he falls instantly silent. “I don’t mind. Do you want some help carrying things to the table?” 

“Uh, there isn’t much to carry.” Barry takes half a step toward the kitchen. Adorably, he makes no move to pull his hand from Leonard’s grasp. “I just made meatloaf and glazed carrots, I hope you don’t mind, it’s…” He drops his voice as though confessing a shameful secret. “It’s kinda my comfort food. I’ve been eating it a lot.” 

“That sounds amazing,” Leonard says, and means it. 

While Barry brings dishes from the kitchen, Leonard uncorks a bottle of red wine and pours two glasses. He sets the bottle closer to Barry’s seat. He won’t have more than one glass—he likes the taste of alcohol but has no patience with its effects. If Barry wants to indulge, though, he won’t stop him. 

“And there’s that.” Barry sets a plate of thick slices of meatloaf beside a tiny bowl of red sauce. “Um, that’s barbecue sauce. There’s some on each slice already, but you can add more. And then the carrots. Maybe don’t put sauce on them.” 

As he did last time, Leonard pulls out Barry’s chair for him. Barry perches on the very edge of the seat and gestures at the food. “You can, um. Guests first.” 

Leonard serves himself. Then, remembering Barry’s behavior at Saints, he serves him, too. “I expect you to eat that.” 

Reluctantly, Barry nibbles a carrot. “I keep thinking that maybe if I don’t eat very much, I can at least keep the physical perks,” he mumbles. “Not the speed, but, you know. The muscles and the…” He trails off. When he speaks again, his words break Leonard’s heart. “I just don’t wanna go back to being scrawny little Barry.” 

Leonard makes a soft, understanding sound. “You have to eat,” he coaxes. “Say your speed returns and you get your accelerated metabolism back after weeks of not eating enough. How do you think your body will handle that?” 

He’s not prepared for Barry’s whisper-soft confession. “I can get my speed back. They figured out how. I just _won’t,_ it’s too dangerous.” 

Leonard makes the connection in a matter of seconds. “You need a burst of dark matter as well as an electrical charge. They would have to turn the accelerator back on.”

“Or make a mini version of it, yeah.” Barry nods. “They’re willing, Cisco has a plan and everything, I just couldn’t live with myself if getting my powers back meant another explosion…maybe giving hundreds more people powers they don’t want, or dangerous powers, or…” He stabs his meatloaf with unwarranted vehemence. “I’m not worth that. The Flash isn’t worth that.”

“And if there’s another Zoom-level threat?” Leonard lays his hand gently over Barry’s. He feels smaller, more delicate, without his powers, but given what Barry has said, Leonard would never tell him that. “What then?”

“Then, maybe, I dunno.” Barry picks at his meatloaf. “If the benefits outweighed the risks, I guess. But right now it would just be selfish.” 

Silence stretches between them. Presently, Leonard asks, “Is Iris well?” 

Barry perks up and rocks gently side to side. “She and Eddie just got married. It wasn’t much of a ceremony—like, there weren’t a whole lot of people there—but it was sweet. Eddie wrote the most adorable vows for her. Joe cried.” 

Leonard smiles. “I’m sure she made a radiant bride.” 

“She was so happy,” Barry agrees. He slows his rocking to take a sip of wine. “Eddie took her last name. They’re Mr. and Mrs. West now. Joe doesn’t know what to think about that, but Eddie doesn’t want any connection to the Thawnes after…” He trails off. Leonard hears the length of the story from the duration of his pause. “It’s complicated.”

“We have time,” Leonard invites. “You can tell me.”

Barry shakes his head. “It’s depressing, and I’d kinda like to stay on happy topics tonight. If that’s okay.” He curls in on himself as though ashamed of such a simple request. Leonard can’t bear to see him so shy.

“Of course we can. While we’re on the subject of family…” He lets his tone become playfully begrudging. “Lisa seems to be enjoying herself with your little friend.”

Barry beams. “Cisco is on cloud nine,” he gushes. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him this happy. Everyone keeps teasing him for being lovesick.” 

Leonard doesn’t know how he feels about that. The last thing he can afford while worrying about Lisa’s well-being is to think about how her date feels. At the very least, it doesn’t sound like Cisco would willfully hurt her. That said, a lot of things can happen with the best intentions behind them. 

“She’s amused by the two of us,” he adds, rather than address Cisco’s feelings. “She told me she’s going to demand ‘details’ of tonight’s goings-on, so let’s be as boring as possible.” 

Barry giggles. “Iris is the same way. She keeps asking me about you and I don’t know what to say.” He finishes the last of his meatloaf. “Everything is so _complicated._ I keep thinking maybe now it’ll be less complicated, but no. You’re still a mobster and I’m still a CSI and we shouldn’t have even met.” Before Leonard can ask, he adds, “I’m not sorry we did.”

The adorable rambling isn’t quite what Leonard expected from tonight, given how listless Barry has been without his powers. He can’t help teasing, “You’re chatty tonight.”

Barry ducks his head. “I might be a little buzzed,” he admits. “Like, not a lot, just…alcohol didn’t affect me when I had my powers, and without them…”

“You’re a lightweight?” Leonard makes a show of looking Barry up and down. It only heightens the faint flush in his cheeks. 

“I’m not a…” Barry considers his empty wineglass. “Okay, maybe I’m kind of a lightweight. But I’m not _drunk.”_

“Never said you were,” Leonard says with amusement. 

“You implied it.” Leonard isn’t sure he’s supposed to hear the grumpy little mutter, so he doesn’t reply. 

Cleaning up goes quickly. Leonard packages the food into containers while Barry rinses the dishes and sets the dishwasher to run. Along the way, he makes a substantial dent in the number of dishes in the sink. 

“I should go, shouldn’t I?” Leonard asks after tucking the leftovers in the refrigerator. 

Barry glances over his shoulder. “Oh, um. I…I don’t have anything else planned, so you don’t have to stay.” He turns around, hands clasped in front of him. “Thank you for coming. I feel more…I dunno. More like me, now.” 

Against his better judgment, Leonard cradles a hand against Barry’s cheek. He realizes the mistake he’s made when Barry’s expression softens, but he can’t pull away. Breaking contact would shatter the weird, sweet stillness that’s enveloped them. 

It takes an eternity for them to drift close enough to kiss. Their lips brush, so lightly it could be dismissed as imaginary. Leonard is reminded fleetingly of the kiss they shared in Elliot’s diner before Abruzzi interrupted them. That, too, was barely a kiss. 

“Barry.” His voice comes out low and husky. He feels Barry’s answering shiver. 

“I want to kiss you again,” the kid murmurs. 

The next kiss is deeper, but still just as slow and sweet. Leonard’s hand slips from Barry’s cheek to the nape of his neck. The kid’s head tips back and his mouth falls open. It might not be an invitation, but Leonard takes it anyway. Judging by Barry’s needy little hum, his imposition is entirely welcome. 

“S-stop.” It takes a second, but Barry pushes him away. Leonard is left reeling, off-balance from the sudden break. 

“What did I do wrong?”

Barry shakes his head. “Nothing. It just doesn’t feel real.” He takes a shaky step back and wraps his arms around himself. “Everything felt like _more_ when I had my powers. Without them…”

Leonard ventures, “It’s like being drugged. Everything is dampened.” 

Barry nods miserably. “I don’t wanna stop,” he confesses. “It’s just…wrong.”

“I understand.” That doesn’t stop him from being disappointed, but Barry needn’t know that. “Do you want me to stay, or—”

Slowly, Barry shakes his head. “If you stay, I’ll do something stupid and regret it. Like, not that we did it, but that it was this muted.” Too quickly, he adds, “I’m sorry. If you’re angry with me or you want to, y’know, not see me again…”

“I’m not going to be angry with you for saying no.” Leonard wants to catch Barry’s hand but doesn’t dare. If Barry wants contact, he’ll initiate it. (That’s not true and Leonard knows it. In this case, though, it feels like the safer assumption.) “And I’m not going to break up with you over it. I’d like to see you again, wherever or however you would like to arrange that.” 

Barry considers. “Maybe…next week, back here? But not with the wine or the kissing.”

Leonard nods. “I’d like that.”


	11. Chapter 11

The day after their date, Barry is faced with a grim choice. 

“I know what you’ve said.” Cisco is pacing back and forth across the Cortex. There’s no Twizzler in his hand—a mark of the seriousness of the situation. “And not gonna lie, you’re not really wrong. Harry has rigged up a thing that _should_ direct all the dark matter at you, but y’know, even with two tech geniuses, things can go wrong. But, see, thing is, this metahuman literally can’t be defeated by anyone other than a speedster. Anyone or anything who touches him…”

Pictures pop onto the screen behind him. Barry doesn’t look at them. He’s visited the crime scenes in a CSI capacity; he knows the newest metahuman is capable of reducing perfectly healthy people to mummified corpses. 

“Toast,” Cisco finishes feebly. 

“Why does this need a speedster?” Barry tilts his head. He can’t fathom why a single metahuman, albeit a destructive and vengeful one, should necessitate turning on the particle accelerator again. “I mean, I have a healing factor, but even that has limits.”

Caitlin interjects. “This metahuman…”

“Whose name is, uh…pending,” Cisco mutters. 

“Has cells that are decaying at an extreme rate. Right now, he seems to be able to hold himself together, so it only affects other people.” She shrugs. “When you were a speedster, your cells were in a constant state of regeneration. In theory…”

“If I had my powers, they would cancel out his,” Barry concludes. The science seems sound, or as sound as any science involving metahumans will ever be. “And you’re sure there’s no other way?”

Caitlin shakes her head. “And I don’t think he’ll stop killing on his own. We looked him up.” She nods at Cisco. He nods along, clearly prepared for her to continue. When she doesn’t, he perks up. 

“Oh, my turn? Okay. Yeah, we looked him up. Clive Yorkin, petty criminal…not-so-stellar criminal record, and then about a year ago…” He puts Yorkin’s arrest record onto the screen. This Barry hasn’t seen, and he peers at the list of charges. “Joined the Santini crime family. My guess is, he’s their answer to Boss Cold’s metahuman enforcers. Fight powers with powers, right?” 

A chill runs the length of Barry’s spine. Not only do the Santinis lack Len’s morals, making Yorkin a threat to civilians, but they could use him against the Rogues. Against his will, Barry has grown fond of all of them. If he can stop Yorkin…

“And you’re sure there’s no other way?” he ascertains. 

Caitlin and Cisco exchange a look. “Pretty sure,” Cisco says. “And Harry's machine is about as safe as it can get, so…you ready to be the Flash again, buddy?” He lets a hint of a smile onto his face as he says it. Despite himself, Barry feels a little thrill. He shouldn’t—it’s selfish to want his powers back when activating the accelerator again could change so many lives—but the last few weeks have felt sickly and dreamlike without his lightning to ground him. 

“I am.” 

Harry has put together a hell of a machine. Most of it, as he explains, is to channel the dark matter directly into the breach room “Where we can contain it. This time, unlike last time—on your Earth or mine—no dark matter should leave the STAR Labs premises.” The rest of the machine is to replicate the conditions of the lightning strike. Injectors will pump Barry full of the same chemicals he came into contact with during the lightning strike; a massive metal frame will deliver a lightning strike.

“We’ll be using actual lightning,” Harry explains, “generated by the Weather Wand. Ramon will be up on the roof, creating an electrical storm—”

“Wait, I will?” Cisco asks in horror. Evidently, Harry failed to clear this with him beforehand. 

“And, at my signal, will discharge a lightning bolt into a satellite receiver I’ve installed on the roof.” Harry continues as though he didn’t hear. 

Barry walks around the contraption. “What are these?” He raises a hand to parts of the machine that vaguely resemble large metal pen caps. 

“Clamps,” Harry explains. “This will be an overwhelming experience. You’ll need help staying in place and upright.” 

Barry supposes he has a point. Quietly, he asks, “Will it hurt?”

Harry shrugs. “Did the first one?” 

“I don’t remember.” He wraps his arms around himself. His memory of that night goes hazy after Thawne-Wells’ speech, and he remembers nothing about the lightning strike. When he’d first confessed this to Caitlin, she said retrograde amnesia was to be expected and that she would have been more surprised if he remembered. He can’t help wondering what it felt like—whether the first touch of the Speed Force was agonizing or euphoric. 

“Right.” Harry gestures at the contraption. “In you go, then.”

“Wait.” Barry balks. “Joe and Iris…they should be here. If something goes wrong, I…”

Before Harry can speak, Cisco lays a hand on his shoulder. “We can do that,” he promises. “Trust me, man. Yorkin can wait another hour.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Hey, Boss.”

Leonard nods curt permission. Mark slides into the seat opposite him, sets a basket of fries between them, and munches contemplatively. 

“Where’s Barry?” The level of worry in his eyes is almost endearing. Of the Rogues, Mark has taken to Barry with particular urgency. Leonard can’t help wondering how those feelings will change if Barry ever regains his powers. “It’s been a couple of weeks since he was here. Is he sick? Shawna said he didn’t look so good.”

“He caught something unpleasant.” Or rather, was caught by, but Leonard won’t make that distinction. “I told him to stay clear. The last thing I can afford is for my crew to get sick.” 

Mark nods slowly. “Well, if you see him, tell him I hope he feels better.” He makes no move to get up. Half-sarcastically, Leonard drawls, 

“Feel free to take your break.”

“Thanks, Boss.” It’s hard to tell if Mark doesn’t hear the sarcasm or if he simply doesn’t care. (Leonard suspects the latter.) The effect is the same: he lounges back in his seat, braces a hand behind his head, and continues to nibble on the fries. When the door opens, he sighs and gets to his feet. “Be with you in a second!” 

Unlike Mark, Leonard scans the bar before speaking. The man in the doorway isn’t one of Saints’ regular customers. Even more unfortunately, Leonard knows him: Clive Yorkin, a low-level goon in the Santini family. He’s nothing—an easy kill—or so Leonard thinks until he sees the pile of dust in the open threshold. 

“Better make that second last,” Yorkin drawls. “It’s the last one you have on this earth.”


	13. Chapter 13

Joe and Iris’s arrival is heralded by the clack of heels. Barry whips around just in time for Iris to grab his arms and say, “You don’t have to do this. Barry, if something goes wrong, I can’t lose you. Last time, you were in a coma for nine months. If it gets worse—if you…”

“Iris, Iris, hey.” He pulls her into a hug. “I know. I’m worried, too, okay, but I didn’t ask you to be here to talk me out of it. I just…” He glances over her shoulder. Joe is lingering in the doorway, watching both of them worriedly. “I know this is gonna be dangerous, and I want you and Joe here with me. You’re the two people in my life who have always been there for me. I couldn’t do this without you.” 

Iris searches his face with wide, frightened eyes. “That’s why you have to listen to me,” she begs. “You’re my best friend, and you always will be. If I lose you because you think you, Barry Allen, don’t matter…”

“That isn’t it.” His heart breaks. He _has_ thought that, and she knows it, but that isn’t his motivation. If he wants her to support him, he has to tell her why. “My powers…they felt so right. Without them, it’s like I’m living in a dream, waiting to wake up.” He rubs his thumb against her cheek. She leans into it, closing her eyes and smiling as though trying to fight back tears. “I don’t want to spend my time with you feeling like it’s not real enough, because it is. So yeah, I’m doing this because I need to stop a meta killer, but I’m doing it for me, too.”

She sighs and cups his cheeks. “I’m not going to change your mind, am I?” 

He shakes his head. Over her shoulder, he sees Joe roll his eyes and smile. He knows how stubborn Barry can be. Barry is under no illusions that he supports the risk he's about to take, but he won’t try to talk him out of it. “It just didn’t feel right to do this without you.”

From behind him, there’s the sound of someone clearing their throat. “Uh, hate to interrupt,” Cisco says, sounding anything but sorry, “but I’ve got a location on Yorkin. We’ve gotta move _now.”_

“What? Where?” Barry doesn’t like his tone. 

“Saints and Sinners,” Cisco confesses. “Lisa texted me. She’s in the back room, she’s hiding, but Barry, if he gets her…”

“He won’t.” Barry’s blood runs cold. If Yorkin is at Saints, he must be after Len. The Santinis are finally making a move. As much as he wants to bolt into the breach room and strap himself into the machine, he pauses to give Iris a final reassuring squeeze. “I have to go.”

She bites her lip. He hates being the cause for the helpless look in her eyes, but she gathers her emotions close the way she always has and whispers, “Go.” 

At Harry’s insistence, Barry slips into the Flash suit. Then he steps into the machine. His feet fit into bootlike metal clamps; at Harry’s urging, he raises his hands into another pair of clamps. They lock into place with an ominous _click._

“Ready, Ramon?” Harry settles behind a computer and speaks into one of the microphones. Cisco’s reply echoes through the breach room. 

“Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s do this thing _now_ before Yorkin hurts Lisa.”

Harry taps a key. Blast doors slide shut, shielding the others from the dark matter soon to suffuse the breach room. For a terrifying second, Barry thinks he’s on his own. Then Harry’s voice comes over the speakers. “Beginning injections. Allen, this is going to hurt.”

His hands burst with pain. The clamps are equipped with needles, several in each. He’s barely had time to process the initial pain when fire kindles under his skin—the chemical cocktail he was exposed to during the first lightning strike, recreated. The pain spreads up his arms, into his torso, and for a horrifying second, he fears he’ll die of chemical exposure before the dark matter hits him. Then Harry speaks. 

“Releasing particles. Activate the wand, Ramon.” 

The chemicals have gone systemic. Barry’s vision blurs around the edges. He tries to keep a thought in his mind— _you’ll have your lightning back, you’ll have your lightning back_ —but everything is turning sickly-shimmery. It’s all he can do not to pass out. 

“And collision.”

Energy whips around Barry in a breathless rush. This is no euphoric reuniting with his powers; it’s exquisitely, radiantly painful. He feels as though every atom in his body is going to fly apart. Somewhere distant, through the lightning-hot agony, he thinks someone screams. It might even be him.


	14. Chapter 14

To the credit of its patrons, Saints does not erupt into shrieking chaos. Some of the people near the now-disintegrated door make a quiet break for it. A few of the regulars reach for beer bottles or concealed weapons. Mick, Shawna, Sam, and Rosa step out of the back room. Leonard sees Lisa in the back doorway, phone in hand, and motions for her to get back. He doesn’t care if he dies as long as she’s safe. 

Yorkin’s eyes at last alight on Leonard. “The infamous Boss Cold,” he says. His voice is mild; it scarcely befits a man of his dreadful power. “All this time, all this work to find you, and you’re this easy to access?” 

Leonard holds up his hands. “If it’s me you want, it’s me you’ll get. But I warn you, I don’t intend to make it easy.”

Yorkin gives a small, slightly wild smile. “Oh, I hope you don’t,” he says. “It’s more fun that way. Taking people unawares is…it’s easy, but it’s never _fun.”_

One of the regulars, a quiet but fiercely loyal man called Paulie, charges Yorkin with a knife. It’s a foolhardy move. Yorkin wheels around, grabs him by the wrist, and watches impassively as he crumples to the floor. Before their eyes, his skin turns grey and begins to shrivel. Within seconds, he's a withered corpse. 

“Fine.” Leonard can’t watch this man devastate his crew. Should anything unfortunate happen to him, he trusts Mick and Lisa to lead the Rogues. Between the lot of them, they should figure out a way to take revenge for his death. “You want me, I told you, that’s fine. Let the nice people go, and we can settle this like a couple of adults.” 

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” Yorkin takes a step toward him. Leonard drops a hand to the cold gun in its holster under his seat. Before he can draw it, Mick interposes himself between the two of them. 

“That’s enough,” he rumbles. “You want the boss, you gotta get through me first.”

_“Mick.”_ Leonard infuses it with enough warning and command to terrify a lesser person. Mick, as stubborn and loyal as he is, doesn’t budge. Worse, the other Rogues take up positions around him, forming a line across the bar to block Yorkin’s path. 

“A touching display, but pointless.” Yorkin extends a hand as though to brush Mick’s cheek. When Mick doesn’t flinch, he grins. “You know, the Santinis would have use for a man like you. It’d be a pity to dust you if your allegiance has a fair price.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Mick’s loyalty isn’t bought—it’s earned, and once earned nothing can shake it. He growls and reaches for his thigh holster where the heat gun makes its home. “Think I can be bought? Snart’s had my loyalty for long before this stupid war broke out. I’m not gonna turn my back on him because some…some…flameless fire tries to threaten me.”

It’s inelegantly stated, but an apt description of Yorkin’s victims. Evidently, Yorkin doesn’t think so. “You must be the second in command. You know, the Santinis told me about you. They were right on the money…not very bright, are you?” He holds up a hand. “I suppose you won’t be missed.”

There’s a whirl of lightning. At first, Leonard thinks Mark has lost his patience—entirely characteristic of him. Only in hindsight does he realize the lightning wasn’t one of Mark’s focused blue-white bolts; it was a streak of yellow. 

“Hey Yorkin.” It’s been too long since Leonard heard that voice sound so strong and confident. Barry stands by the bar, his stance deceptively relaxed. Surrounded by red tripolymer, his eyes are bright and sparking with lightning. “I think you’re out of your territory.” 

“Flash.” It’s a mark of Barry’s reputation that Yorkin turns fully away from the Rogues. “Well, this is an unexpected treat. I thought your hero days were over. Guess I get to make sure of that myself.” 

Barry takes off one of his gloves. Leonard watches, bewildered, as he reaches behind the bar, grabs a bottle, and smashes it. He hadn’t thought Barry one for weapons, but…

Everyone stares, confused, as Barry draws the broken edge of the bottle across his palm. Blood drips freely onto the stained wooden floor. He looks up with a playful grin and dares, “Catch me if you can.”

Yorkin lunges fruitlessly toward the bar. Faster than Leonard can track, Barry leaps into motion. A blur of red speeds across the bar and around—no, Leonard corrects, _through_ —Yorkin. Barry skids to a stop on the opposite side of the bar. Yorkin whirls around, dazed but unharmed. 

“Guess you’re not as fast as you say, Flash,” he snarls. Two steps take him to Barry’s side, and he grabs the hand unprotected by a glove. Leonard leaps to his feet. He may not be able to save Barry, but if nothing else, he’ll make Yorkin rue the day he killed him. 

To their collective astonishment, Yorkin’s included, Barry doesn’t crumble. He breaks into a wide, toothy grin and says, “Would you look at that. I negated your powers. Guess that means I don’t really need these, but y’know. You can never be too sure.” He snaps a pair of power-dampening handcuffs on Yorkin’s wrists. Then, with a swift smile at Leonard, he speeds him away. Although Leonard loses sight of him in a whirl of yellow lightning, he's almost sure he feels a press of warm lips to his cheek.

Silence fills the bar in the Flash’s absence. It’s broken almost simultaneously by Mick’s grumble of, “Guess I’ll go buy us a new door,” and Mark’s reluctant, “So does this mean I have to kill the boss’s boyfriend?” Leonard can’t contain a smile, however small and fleeting it is. His Rogues are safe, and beyond that, Barry has his powers back. Of all the outcomes of Yorkin's intrusion, this is by far the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple chapters back, when I asked about whether or not to include smut, the vast majority of the responses were 'yes.' So, for those of you who asked for it, the next chapter is smut. For anyone who doesn't want smut, this is the end of the plotline - you won't miss anything by not reading the next chapter!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the promised smutty chapter. For those of you who don't want smut, the last chapter was the end of the plot - this is just sex and cuddles.

The next day, Barry runs into Saints and Sinners just before closing time. He enters the bar at normal speed but does nothing to tame his windblown hair or lessen the gleeful flush of exertion in his cheeks. 

Shawna stops him before he can reach Leonard’s table. “Good to see you looking like yourself,” she says. “Also, you’re lucky it was me working. Mark says to pass along a message that he’s grateful you saved the boss and the rest of us, but if he sees you around here again, he might have to fry you.” 

Barry nods. Before she can disappear back behind the bar, he pulls her into a quick hug. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

She stiffens. “You’re sweet, and I appreciate the sentiment, but hug me again and I’ll end you.” 

This does nothing to diminish Barry’s enthusiasm. By the time he reaches Leonard’s booth, he’s practically bouncing. 

“Someone’s happy.” Leonard can’t keep his affection out of his voice. He’s never seen Barry this radiantly happy before. Some of that sweet, gleeful glow infects him—he couldn’t resist if he tried, and he doesn’t want to. 

“I can’t even describe it.” Barry turns a circle, gaping anew at the worn old bar, the battered booths, and the dented walls. “It’s like everything is brand new all over again.”

“And let me guess,” Leonard drawls. “You want to share all this shiny new excitement with me.”

Barry wiggles, resembling nothing so much as an overgrown puppy. “Well, I sort of owe you dinner, and I definitely owe you kisses.” 

Leonard shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything, Barry, but I appreciate the sentiment. If you want to have dinner…or whatever levels of intimacy your sweet little heart desires…I’m not going to say no.”

Barry gives a wiggly bounce that almost makes Leonard laugh aloud. “Then come on! Let’s go, I wanna take you home.” 

Leonard gets to his feet and links his arm through the crook of Barry’s elbow. “I suppose we can go. You seem too eager to delay.”

Barry waits until they’re outside Saints to plead, “Can I run you? It’s only a little disorienting, and it’s so fun…”

And of course, as sweet as he is, Barry wants to share this fun, exciting thing with him. Despite numerous mental images of being torn limb from limb by excessive acceleration, Leonard says, “Of course.”

The world lurches. Leonard is dimly aware of a rush of color and sound. When he’s finally able to process again, he’s safely in Barry’s flat. No sooner has he caught a dizzy glimpse of a familiar sofa and kitchen than he finds himself against the door, his arms full of excitable speedster. 

“Sorry,” Barry says. He looks anything but sorry: his eyes are shining with exhilaration, his too-pink lips curved in a breathless grin. “I don’t, I don’t mean to push…”

Leonard doesn’t have the patience to listen to him babble the expected-but-insincere apologies. Instead, he cradles the back of his head and pulls him into a kiss. 

The first touch of lips doesn’t feel particularly impressive to him, but it must to Barry. The kid’s mouth opens, sloppy-wet and greedy, and he presses closer as though he wants to smother Leonard against the door. Leonard slips his hands down to Barry’s ass and squeezes, trying to give him the pressure he so clearly craves. Then Barry’s tongue slips past his lips and any thoughts of taking control of the kiss desert him. This is Barry’s show, and Leonard is all too happy to let him take charge. 

“Oh God,” Barry breathes when they part. “I don’t usually do this…” 

“But this is the best thing you’ve ever felt.” The words leave Leonard’s lips as a growl. Barry gasps breathlessly and sinks his teeth into his kiss-pink lower lip. “Believe me, I’m not complaining.” 

One kiss bleeds into the next. Barry stumbles backwards, pulling Leonard along until they topple down onto something not-quite-bedlike—the sofa. Leonard lands on top of the kid, hands braced on the cushion to either side of his head. Barry stares up at him, mouth slack, eyes wide and hazy. He looks thoroughly wrecked and they’ve barely begun. 

“We should slow down,” Leonard says. The words ring hollow. He doesn’t want to slow down, but for Barry’s sake, he feels he should make the offer. 

“No.” Barry scrabbles at the back of his neck, trying to pull him into another kiss. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

Leonard leans down to trail kisses along the tender skin of Barry’s neck. At the same time, he runs his hand across Barry’s narrow shoulder, over his collarbone, until he finds the topmost button of his shirt. “Is this okay?”

“Huh?” Barry makes a little bewildered sound. “Oh! Yeah, yeah, that’s okay.”

Another time, perhaps, Leonard would take it slow, unwrap him patiently until he begged, but right now he can’t bear to wait. Instead, he makes short work of Barry’s buttons. As his shirt falls open, exposing soft, warm skin, Leonard explores each new expanse with his tongue. By the time he reaches Barry’s twitchy little belly, the kid is whimpering and moaning as though they’ve gone a lot farther than kissing. 

“You like this?” Leonard checks. 

“Oh God.” Barry’s hand rubs over the back of his head. “You can’t… _ah!”_ He breaks off to yelp when Leonard nuzzles along his hipbone. “You can’t imagine how good this feels.”

“Like it’s your first time.” Leonard kisses a meandering path back up to Barry’s neck. “Like it’s too much and not enough and all you want is more.”

Barry nods feverishly. Leonard peppers kisses on his jaw and cheeks before pressing their lips together. The kiss tastes faintly of ozone, with a pop-rocks staticky fizz to it that Leonard doesn’t understand until Barry flips them over at superspeed. For a single, electrifying second, Leonard feels the same lightning-bright clarity Barry does—every nerve firing too quickly, too much all at once. He’s glad the feeling fades, or it might have burnt him out. “Barry, _fuck.”_

Barry pulls back and regards him with wild eyes. “You felt it too,” he realizes. 

Leonard nods. No wonder the kid is so desperate, if everything feels like _that._ “You want this?” he checks again. His voice comes out breathy and too high-pitched. Barry doesn’t seem to care. 

“Yes, yes, if you do.” 

They should slow down, Leonard acknowledges one more time. He doubts they can. Months of wanting, left to simmer while they found their footing with each other, have finally made themselves known. Barry’s returned powers might have been the catalyst, but they would have found themselves like this one way or another. 

“Clothes off.” It comes out as a growl. Barry keens and ruts against Leonard’s thigh. 

“Yes, yes, finally…”

Getting clothes off of a squirmy speedster requires a level of flexibility Leonard didn’t know he possessed. Add in said squirmy speedster’s attempts to undress Leonard and it’s a miracle their clothes survive intact. It’s all worth it for Barry’s awed little _“Oh”_ when he sees Leonard naked. 

“Oh?” Leonard skims a hand along Barry’s slender side. Of the two of them, he’s not the one worthy of such fascination. 

“I didn’t picture you this _powerful.”_ The kid skims eager hands along Leonard’s shoulders. “You look like you could make me do whatever you wanted.” 

Leonard is about to correct him—he won’t do anything Barry doesn’t enthusiastically agree to—before he hears the needy whine in his voice. Barry isn’t afraid; he’s aroused at the thought of being pinned or manhandled. “Is that what you want me to do?”

“Not this time.” Barry grinds back against Leonard’s cock, back arching as though he’s riding him. Leonard can’t remember the last time he was this achingly hard. “I wanna go fast, like really fast. Maybe next time?”

Leonard almost teases that he’s being presumptuous by planning for a next time, but that isn’t so. He would happily take Barry to bed a second time, and however many more times Barry wants. “Maybe. Do you really think your sofa can put up with speedster sex?” 

Barry shrugs. “I don’t know that the bed will be any better, but that’s where the lube is.” 

They make it to the bedroom eventually, although they both get distracted along the way. Leonard is all too happy to let Barry knock him onto the bed, stretch up to grab lube from the bedside table, and settle comfortably on his waist. 

“Comfortable?” 

Barry slicks his fingers and reaches behind to prep himself. Leonard grabs for his wrist but stops when Barry shakes his head. “Let me do it, I can be quick.” 

Indeed he can. While Leonard watches, Barry slicks himself at superspeed. The concept seems painful, like there would be too much friction, but Barry’s face shows only pleasure. 

“You…” Barry’s hand stops vibrating. His eyes flutter open, half-focused and hazy. Slowly, awareness filters back in. When it does, he gives himself a little shake. “You want me to ride you? Like, do you really want it, or just because I asked to?” 

Leonard settles his hands low and firm on Barry’s narrow hips. He can feel barely-there twitches of muscle under all that warm skin—the kid is trying to keep from rolling his hips. “I want it,” he says. “I want to let you set the pace.”

Barry leans down and kisses him, deep and hot and sloppy. While Leonard is still breathless and dazed from the kiss, Barry sinks down onto his cock. Leonard’s mouth drops open, but no sound escapes. The praise he wants to babble stays caught in his throat, tangled with a groan that he’s too ashamed to dislodge. 

_“Fuck.”_ Barry arches his back. “It’s too much, it’s too much, being still _hurts,_ is it okay if I move?” 

Leonard nods, unable to speak. He doesn’t know if he’s ready, but he’s willing to find out. 

Barry sets a relentless pace. Leonard loses track of everything that isn’t the tight heat of Barry around him, the warm sweat-slick firmness of his body beneath his hands, the occasional fevered press of his mouth. At least twice, a spark flies from Barry’s skin and stings him, but there’s no pain; it only heightens the whirlwind of sensation that Leonard is too pleasure-drunk to process. All he can do is ride it out and beg for more. 

By the time Leonard comes, his belly is streaked with Barry’s release from at least two orgasms (possibly three). Thankfully, this is around the time the kid slows to a grind, trembling so much he can scarcely stay upright. It takes a gentle nudge to coax him to pull off and curl on the mattress at Leonard’s side. 

“Wow.” Leonard can’t find the words to string together a coherent sentence. He’s so exhausted he can barely move. It takes altogether too much energy to drape an arm over Barry’s waist. 

“I think I went a little too hard,” Barry offers with a rueful smile. “But oh, I didn’t want to stop.” He trails off. Leonard nudges their noses together and offers a sleepy grin. 

“As good as you hoped?”

“I’m so glad we waited.” He shifts closer, burrows his head into the crook of Leonard’s neck, and speaks into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. A twinge of pain warns him he might be bruised. “That was _so much.”_

“I could tell.” Leonard can’t say he felt the same way, but just watching the effect every new sensation had on Barry was enough for him. “Will it always be like this?”

Barry shakes his head. “I’ll get used to it, so it won’t overwhelm me so much. But this—on the first full day of having my powers back—no, this was a lot.” He peppers butterfly kisses across Leonard’s shoulder. “Thank you for this. For…just…everything.”

“I should be thanking you.” It’s too sincere. As much as Leonard wants to keep going—he has so much to thank Barry for—he deflects by saying, “Especially for letting me stay, because there’s no way I can move for the next hour.”

Barry giggles. “I mean, you can stay the night. I’m really good at making breakfast.”

Leonard doesn’t stay the night after sex. He doesn’t do post-coital cuddling or pillow talk, and he most certainly doesn’t do breakfast the next morning. With Barry in his arms, though, all his reasons for avoiding such intimacy seem petty and senseless. “When you put it that way, I suppose the Rogues can manage without me for one night.”

Barry makes a happy little cooing sound. “Oh. I didn’t really expect that to work. Okay, yes, yay, you’re staying.” 

Leonard is fairly sure he hears a mumbled “I love you” some two or three minutes later. For once, it doesn’t scare him. He’s not sure he’s ready to confess his love—partly because he’s not sure whether what he feels qualifies as ‘love’ or not—but he’s more than willing to stay. Love, should it come later, will be welcome when it does.


End file.
